


From the Brightest Winter Star

by tatertotarmy



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 17:22:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13151382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatertotarmy/pseuds/tatertotarmy
Summary: In the midst of writing his novel, Elliott becomes stumped. The sprint to the final page is frustrating in more ways than one.Written as a gift for The Pelago Islands Secret Santa Exchange





	From the Brightest Winter Star

He watched the sea sometimes, though he didn’t know why. Inspiration, he told himself, halfway stuck between a long train monologue on page fifty-five and a moment of sexual tension that would be written God knows when. Unwritten words that filled in the gaps between scenes, words he knew he needed to write but didn’t care to; an empty boring space between the good chunks of goodness.

Sometimes he told himself to just skim over that section and think about it at another time. Go back and write the full thing later, Elliott. Whatever was skipped could be re-written later. A minor edit in the grand scheme of a completed novel. But he couldn’t bring himself to strike out the gaps, like it would be cutting corners. Was it cutting corners, half-assing a novel he promised himself he would complete in full? Of course it was.

It was halfway between page fifty-seven and fifty-eight when he stormed out of his shack on the beach, the winter breeze trailing from the ocean and combing through untamed hair, tangled from a full day’s work. The word “work” being emphasized in strong quotations in the back of his mind. He wrote, so he worked, but he got stuck halfway through the day, so he was slacking. Such as the life of a harsh novelist went. Forever criticizing one small setback in a novel’s worth of trouble.

The stars were out, witnessing his entire, pathetic form. Dark circles beneath his eyes, partially bloodshot from staring at type all day. He was draped in clothes he would never be caught dead in when he strutted through Pelican Town. Pajama pants and a loose fitting shirt; too loose and too drab for anyone to see.

“Um…hey?”

Elliott froze, slowly turning his head to see the farmer. The special farmer who had moved in, causing quite a stir among all of the residents. And the farmer who Elliott had taken quite a liking to. Elliott was mortified, unable to move but full of a desire to run right back to his shack, lock the door behind him, and not emerge until the farmer forgot everything about this very moment. The farmer knew he was a writer, but usually nobody thought about the results of such a life. It wasn’t pretty, especially with someone with as high of standards as Elliott in the day-to-day.

He must have been taking much too long to answer (Elliott blamed it on the late night coffee, too wired to think properly) because the farmer continued on, “Bad night?”

Elliott couldn’t help but chuckle anxiously, scratching the back of his head, “How would you ever suspect such a thing from me?”

The farmer let out an amused breath of air, “Well, you’ve been locked in there all day.”

“You checked?” Elliott found himself asking, turning immediately towards them. He felt his heart flutter just a bit.

“Well…about lunchtime. Didn’t think you heard me,” the farmer admitted, “And you just look…a little rough around the edges right now.”

“You’re certainly putting it down in the gentlest way possible.”

“I know,” the farmer chuckled before they adopted a more serious look, “So…?”

“I might have had one setback.”

“Really? Anything I can do to help?”

“Unless you’re an expert on train technology, I think I’m good,” Elliott chuckled, crossing his arms and looking at them with an amused look on his face.

“I’ll have you know that I am an expert,” the farmer grinned as well, “Shoot.”

“Well…” Elliott thought to the main setting of the plot. It was a romance, taking place entirely on a train. A train stewardess falling in love with a travelling architect. All taking place on the longest train ride imaginable. No stops. “How long would it take to go to Forget-Me-Not Valley from here, by the slowest train ever produced?”

“Well if it’s at least going at a snail’s pace…then my scientific deduction would be a solid eventually,” the farmer giggled, “It’ll eventually arrive.”

“Interesting deduction.”

“Thank you. I’m an expert in my field,” the farmer giggled again.

“It’s a miracle that you’re here, then,” Elliott couldn’t help a small smile form on his lips, temporarily forgetting about the horrifying state that his outward appearance was in.

“Anything else?” the farmer’s voice was like a song to him. They stepped a little closer, looking up at him curiously, an amused glint in their eyes.

“Well…” he placed a hand to his chin, thinking hard for a while, “How long would it take to rush from one end of a train to the other?” A vivid scene bloomed in his mind. The stewardess, overcome with the sudden realization that she was in love, would come running from the back of the train to the architect’s cabin near the front. She would bypass dinner carts and shops and the bars, not caring as the entire train seemed to witness her frantic pace. She would be in love, and nothing would hold her back.

Only…that wouldn’t happen until much later. They had only just met on page twenty-six. The architect wasn’t even a romantic possibility in her head yet, just another passenger on a long, boring train ride.

He cursed the fact that romance took so God damn long.

“Well that depends,” the farmer looked out to the sea, pretending to be in deep concentration, “How many obstacles are there? What if a train stewardess is slowly offering everyone snacks? Would you have to barrel right through the cart? What if you wanted to apologize? And what if someone really wants to make your acquaintance along the way? Would you ignore them or just keep gunning it?”

Elliott couldn’t help but laugh, “You’re really putting thought into this.”

“No I’m not. You’re just giving me too few details to work with, Mr. Writer,” the farmer looked up at him this time, giving him a subtle wink. Elliott couldn’t help the small flush of his cheeks that he hoped was masked by the darkness. One vivid scene bloomed in his mind. Him pressing his lips to theirs, getting lost in whatever fringes of romance were seeping beyond the horizon, yet to bloom into something substantial. He wanted to have them now, to express everything he was feeling for the farmer.

But he didn’t. He just forced himself to look out at the horizon, remembering again and again that it was too soon. They had only met on page twenty-six. It was his fault he was already yearning for page one hundred. He needed to wait until the novel was finished.

“Fine, fine,” Elliott spoke, sighing dramatically, “Another question…how long does it take for someone to fall in love?”

A long pause fell between them. Elliott was internally kicking himself. What had he just said to himself? He couldn’t push it! Both of them were looking at the ocean now, Elliott occasionally checking how the farmer was reacting from the corner of his eye. Like they would know his feelings just by a simple question. Of course they wouldn’t. They were still talking about the novel.

“Well…” the farmer tilted their head, “I’m not much of an expert on that.”

“Any input will do,” Elliott spoke, almost too quickly.

“Hm…” the farmer looked up at him, though he struggled to keep his eyes on the horizon, “Well, maybe I can tell you later? If I happen to have expert advice. The only advice I have is to…keep it natural? Let it just…happen?”

Oh, how he wanted it to happen. So badly. Waiting sucked.

Still, he knew it was what he needed to do.

“Thank you,” Elliott finally managed to stuff his feelings down his throat and look at the farmer, a smile on his face, “I think I’m going to try writing some more. Maybe I’ll manage to hit my quota before sunrise.” Doubtful, but a man could dream. He began walking towards his shack, ignoring the pull that the farmer had on him. Not that they knew it.

“Okay,” the farmer remained on the beach, opting to simply let him walk away. He imagined all of the possibilities in his head. Them calling out to him, overcome by the sight of him walking away. Confessing to him right then, like a fire had been started in the pit on their stomach.

Not like that would happen now.

The farmer suddenly spoke up again, “H-Hey…Elliott?”

Elliott froze. Wait…what? He turned towards the farmer, genuine surprise in his eyes.

“What is it?”

“Um…you can come to me if you need anything, okay?” the farmer looked nervous, a touch of pink on their cheeks.

Oh…they were going to be the death of him. It was so tempting. They were right there, begging for him to rush over and crash into them.

He knew it couldn’t happen right then. It was too soon. A small flame would easily get snuffed out in an instant. Elliott wanted a wildfire.

“Anything?” Elliott couldn’t help but flirt, just so he could watch the red dance on their cheeks, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

He turned back and walked into his shack.

He needed to finish this novel as soon as he could.


End file.
